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Poster: ghostofpig Date: Jul 4, 2007 11:34am
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: crimson, white, and indigo....

Gone are the days when the bard went round,
Picked up his pen and wrote the great words down.
Gone are the days when he wrote with ease,
"Let me tell you all about LSD."

American Beauty and Workingman's Dead,
All that brilliance flowed from his head.
Words from the Hunter came pouring down,
Now all he can do is make me frown.

In other words, Hunter long ago lost his muse--right about the day he started to take himself seriously as a poet. He wrote some damn fine nonesense in the beginning and mined the veins of the American soul for around five years, and then he just ran out of gas. Some of his later stuff is just downright embarrassing. One suspects that Garcia felt the same way, as Hunter had piles of lyrics and Jerry had no interest.

Sorry Hunter lovers. I calls them as I sees them. Look-even Dylan don't crank 'em out like he used to.

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Poster: BryanE Date: Jul 4, 2007 4:21pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: crimson, white, and indigo....

I'd say you're probably out there in a domain peopled by few others signing on here, Mr. g.

In order for anyone to tackle an artistic venture, he or she had better take themselves seriously, or they'll wind up with a product that fails to make any kind of meaningful statement. That's not to say by doing so ensures success, because those that do take themselves seriously far outnumber those who do so but are also genuinely talented with a measurable ability to touch the hearts and souls of anyone outside of themselves.

Hunter always told stories of how Jerry would pick and choose from anything he'd written going back to the early days of their partnership.

If you can honestly categorize Days Between, So Many Roads, and Lazy River Road as downright embarrassing, then it would seem to me that you're looking for something in his writing that never existed in the first place. Either that or you're maintaining an appreciation for something that is static and not allowing yourself to grow and age as a listener along with the poet (and he is a poet) growing and aging as well.

In other words, I disagree.

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Poster: Jerrob Hungar Date: Jul 4, 2007 3:25pm
Forum: GratefulDead Subject: Re: crimson, white, and indigo....

felt a bit sad when I first read your post, Bill cos its hard to bear when my beloved Hunter is written off by someone whose input I respect and admire...then I thought can I put this...what you say is probably factually correct ...I don't know...I'm not intellectually equiped to argue this kind of connection to hunter's writings is predominantly emotional...which is why I'd like to let your namesake express my feelings with a little allegory...

Friends, Forumites, earthmen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him;
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interréd with their bones,
So let it be with Caesar…. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answered it….
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all; all honourable men)
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral….
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man….
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgement! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason…. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.